


Punish Me With Your Love

by rotten_goddess



Series: UshiSakuWeek2020 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cheating, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, marriage AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotten_goddess/pseuds/rotten_goddess
Summary: Infidelity chipped at the relationship Kiyoomi once thought was perfect, its foundation crumbling in slow motion right before his eyes. Wakatoshi’s warm hugs had been replaced by cold shoulders. His gentle kisses turned to salty remarks. The other side of their bed had been empty for so long Kiyoomi might as well fill the blank space at the bottom of the divorce papers with his signature. But he didn’t want to.—Day 7 of #UshiSakuWeek
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: UshiSakuWeek2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875031
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: UshiSakuWeek 2020





	Punish Me With Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write a steamy office au for the last day so why did it come to this? Do I even know how to write angst? LOL

“Thank you.” Kiyoomi hadn’t realized how weak and powerless he was until the words came out of his mouth. His voice was almost drowned by the dying engine of his husband’s convertible. 

Wakatoshi didn’t say anything but freed himself from his seatbelt to finally hop down the car. Wakatoshi used to undo his seatbelt for him, giving him the chance to plant playful kisses on his cheek.

Kiyoomi chewed on his lips, the memory felt no less than ancient history to their crumbling marriage now.

He chose not to comment on the cold treatment nonetheless. He knew what he’d say anyway, Wakatoshi already mentioned it last month, when he came to their house to pick him up so they could go to hand in hand in the annual gathering of the Sakusa Family, and he didn’t want a repeat of it. 

It was the first time he saw him in weeks. 

Kiyoomi initially thought his husband had come back to him finally, but he corrected him by saying he was only there to keep up apperances. Because _legally speaking_ , they were still married. 

It was for the same reason Wakatoshi came running to him at the hospital when he was supposed to be at the airport for a scheduled business trip, why he stayed by his side while doctors did all that they can behind the closed doors of the emergency room. The same reason he let him cry in his chest, drowning the scratchings of pen against paper with his cry, hysterical at the announcement of his parents’ time of death to the attending nurse holding a clipboard close to her chest. 

It was strictly for appearances that Wakatoshi rescheduled his important meeting abroad to lament with him, greeting guests and relatives endlessly when he couldn’t because he was reduced to a puddle of salty tears and snot. It was because they were still married, legally speaking, that the man was never gone during the whole interment, until the matching urns holding what remained of his parents were made to occupy two tiny rooms in the columbary. 

Kiyoomi held back his tears, fingers digging at the wooden frame of his mother’s photograph. Underneath it was his father’s. He felt vulnerable now more than ever, not that he hadn’t during the last couple of months. He took a deep breath and unbuckled the seatbelt himself, following Wakatoshi inside their house. Their pretense should be done by now, the latter’s mask pulled from his face to reveal the chillingly blank stare and cold expression. 

As he expected, Kiyoomi found his husband—soon to be ex—at their shared walk-in closet, stuffing more clothes into an old suitcase. 

Wakatoshi could have bought himself new clothes, leave the old ones there so Kiyoomi could pretend his husband was only away for a while, but his man had stopped being generous. 

He could still remember Wakatoshi’s face the night he presented him the divorce paper like the scene was burned at the back of his eyelids. He casually put the Manila envelop down the middle of the bed, let Kiyoomi read through the papers on his own as he packed his things inside his biggest luggage. 

Wakatoshi had so much to pack. There were lots of suits and ties and wrist watches, shoes and jackets, most of which Kiyoomi hadn’t seen his husband wear yet, tucked one by one into his bag. 

Kiyoomi knew Wakatoshi’s back was broad, but that was the first time it looked so out of his touch. 

Three weeks later, Wakatoshi was back in their room, shoving more clothes in another bag as soon as they got home from the family gathering. Kiyoomi was tired, face numb after a whole night of faking smiles, and he was sure Wakatoshi was, too, so he asked him to stay. He didn’t. 

Now, for the third time, Kiyoomi watched his husband gather his belongings with sad eyes and slightly parted lips. During the first two times, he tried talking him to stay. _Begged_. But gone was his loving husband who spoiled him with everything he could give. 

Gone was the lover who showered him with gentle kisses every morning, the supporter who was never too busy to attend every final run of the theater play he was directing, the advisor who tried his best not to frown at all his bad choices but guide him back up with an understanding smile. Gone was the friend who’d stay up all night listening to all the nonsense and ramblings he had. 

“Don’t leave.” Kiyoomi’s voice was nothing more than a soft murmur. His fingers fidgeted on his sides, aching to hug his husband from behind. His throat was the only part of his body stopping him from begging his man another time. 

Wakatoshi sighed, his side of the walk-in closet half empty now, adding to the low temperature of the room when the AC was still turned off. “We already talked about this, Kiyoomi.”

He shivered at the cold in his voice. It felt like ice against his chest, numbing his heart, the burn getting more and more painfully familiar and he didn’t like it.

“Not you, too please,” he tried again. A familiar itch creeped the corners of his eyes. He was tired of crying himself to sleep, blankets heavy over his body but still not feeling any warmth. “I... I don’t want to be alone again.”

It was a selfish request, and Wakatoshi almost hissed at him. Maybe he didn’t because he wasn’t inconsiderate of his situation. 

The trauma of suddenly losing both parents in an unfortunate traffic accident at the age of 25 was damaging enough, and Kiyoomi could only wish he’d be spared another few weeks or so before Wakatoshi shoved the divorce papers into his hands once more, his signature the only missing element to destroy the marriage he never once thought was sitting on a rather shaky foundation.

It wasn’t even six months since he married the man of his dreams, the comically awkward yet nothing short of a loving and perfect husband named Ushijima Wakatoshi. They used to be so happy, their mornings filled with soft laughter and the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, their nights warm and comfy as they sleep between each other’s arms.

Their relationship was perfect. How did it come to this?

A bitter smile played across his lips, heart aching because the answer came faster than the question itself. 

Wakatoshi heaved another sigh, hand slipping from one of the hangers down to his side. He turned to face Kiyoomi with the passive expression he hadn’t seen in him for a while and it somehow comforted him, made him feel like the husband who loved to spoil him was beginning to come back. 

Only the false hopes were shattered before it could sink in his heart and push a little smile up his tired face.

“Even if I stay the night, it won’t change anything. You know that better than anyone else, Kiyoomi.”

_Right._

Staying in the same house again wouldn’t guarantee him anything. Sleeping in the same bed again couldn’t fix what was broken between them. 

“Wakatoshi,” came another whisper. One tear was bold enough to roll down his face and challenge the frozen heart, but Wakatoshi only had to avert his eyes, sink down to zip up his trolley. 

“I know I was wrong... but do you hate me that much?” 

The words seemed to make Wakatoshi flinch. Kiyoomi had the nerve, didn’t he? 

It was all his fault. His infidelity made his husband fall out of love. He had no right to ask. Wakatoshi had all reason to hate all of his being for his disloyalty. He could curse him until he was in the deepest part of hell, where the fire was hottest, burning into him until the dark soul that he was had turned to ash. 

Wakatoshi didn’t do anything to deserve this.

“Do you want to hear the truth?” Wakatoshi asked, eyes still glued to the pair of zippers securing his bag. 

“Yes,” Kiyoomi braved. He deserved it. The pain. The slap of reality. The harsh words to whip him into the worthless person he had become.

“I...” Wakatoshi started. “I hate myself for not being enough for you.”

Kiyoomi’s mouth fell open, not expecting the answer. 

“I didn’t mean to bump into the two of you that night,” he continued, “but I didn’t know you where there. Had I known I would change the meeting place with my partners. But you were there and it just happened.”

“Did.. didn’t mean to? What? What are you implying—”

“I knew it longer than you think I do, Kiyoomi,” he said, eyes finally raising up to meet Kiyoomi’s confused orbs. There was sincerity in his voice, as it had always been. 

Kiyoomi was the liar among the two of them. He put the fib in every fiber of his body, let them make his muscle, until his heart was pumping untruth instead of blood. Fictitious meanings came out naturally after a while of hiding, the thrill of playing with fire clouded his reason. 

But he was caught now, and the fire that started small at the tip of his fingers now eating him up. Slowly. Without consuming or killing him. Eternal fires were meant to repeatedly burn offenders alive. No. He was caught before he knew it, as Wakatoshi suggested.

“But I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t confront you. I was scared that my knowledge of your affair would put the nail in the coffin and you’d leave me. I can’t have that, Kiyoomi. I didn’t want to lose you. That was why I did all that I could to make you think I’m better than him every single chance I had.” 

Wakatoshi’s voice broke, the drought in his throat evident in the usual monotone. It was the first time since their wedding that Kiyoomi saw tears well in his eyes. 

But Kiyoomi had lost all the right to wipe those away.

“Y-You are,” he tried, throat aching as well. He reached for Wakatoshi, catching his face into his hands, but Wakatoshi turned away before he could make their foreheads touch and Kiyoomi’s’ hands submissively fell back to his side, balled into fists where he wished his nails were longer to prick into his palm. 

“Kiyoomi—” Wakatoshi’s tears came running down, ruining the face whose expression only Kiyoomi was able to read—“What did I do wrong? What was it you saw in him that wasn’t in me? What did he do that I couldn’t? What was it he gave you that I did not have?

“I wanted to but I couldn’t ask you any of that. So I thought about it all alone but I don’t know where to start to find the answer.

“You keep smiling at me.You don’t ask me anything. You make me feel like I wasn’t lacking anything, that there wasn’t something you couldn’t find in me, and it only made things harder for me.”

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, words refusing to come out. Because what was he to say? What was he to respond, to blame on the perfect man standing right before him, use an excuse for all the shits he’d done?

He was hurting Wakatoshi before he realized it, and all his lies came back to haunt him, showing themselves in the form of sharp daggers, before diving back all over Wakatoshi’s skin, cutting into him deep until he was nothing but bloody and broken flesh, hand too weak to reach out for help.

Had he seen this image earlier, would he stretch out his arm to pick him up from the mud? Would he nurse the wounds he himself caused? Would he be any less selfish than now?

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi wanted to say, but Wakatoshi beat him into it. Wakatoshi himself reached for his hands, which he didn’t notice were shaking until now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. I’m sorry I made you go through all this,” he whispered. 

He lost him before the divorce papers could enter their home. 

Gone from his grasp was his husband, because he killed him, only his love remained, which he vowed to be endless. Gone was his lover, whose heart now torn to pieces it couldn’t function anymore; his supporter, whom he betrayed and turned his back onto when he needed him most; the advisor who couldn’t run to him for answers. Gone was his friend, because he was too occupied chasing thrills to stop and listen to his worries and cries. 

“No.” Kiyoomi finally found his voice, throat still sore from the silence of his own weeping. He could cry his eyes out and not even the pinky of his toes would be saved from the fire he submitted himself into.

And he didn’t deserve saving. Didn’t deserve forgiveness. Yet he still asked for it. Begged if he must.

“I’m sorry. I’m the one who should tell you that, Wakatoshi. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I know I don’t deserve it but please give me another chance to make things right. Wakatoshi, please.”

Wakatoshi smiled at him instead. The way his cheeks pushed his eyes to thin lines caused more tears to roll, but it was his face that Wakatoshi gently reached, the pad of his thumb rubbing under the bag of his eyes to wipe a tear away. 

“I love you, Kiyoomi. I’m sorry for holding on to you for so long when I can’t even make you happy—”

“Toshi, that’s not true.”

“I love you,” he said again, and Kiyoomi almost fell to his knees at the pain in his smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to let you go.”

“No...”

“Just sign the divorce papers and you’re free. You deserve it. He loves you. I know he’ll take care of you the way I could never.”

“Toshi, no... Please. You’re the one I love.”

He kissed his forehead. It was something chaste, something he took forgranted in favor of his secret lover’s demanding ones. It could have melted him, instead something like acid splashed in the inside of his chest, dissolving his ugly heart because he was never worthy to have one. 

“Let’s end this, Kiyoomi. Let this be the last thing I could do for you.”

He threw himself to Wakatoshi, and he embraced him. The warmth of his welcoming arms comforted him, as if sheltering him from the molten fury of guilt eating at him. 

“Don’t go. Don’t leave. I promise to never hurt you again. So please... anything but that. Don’t leave.”

He kissed him another time, fingers running through the curly locks of his hair. As if reassuring him. 

“Trust me, you don’t need me anymore. You’re just confused right now because of what happened to your parents and his absence. But if he was here I know he’ll be the one you’ll come running to.”

“No... no...” he argued, voice ragged as they drag across the sore in his throat, his nails digging into the back of Wakatoshi’s white button-down. But his claw was too weak that Wakatoshi was able to push himself out of his half-assed clinging.

Again with the gentle smile, more punishing than the cold that used to be in his voice. 

His voice... that he depraved him for the last time. The hand wiping his tears away fell down, now enclosing the handle of his bag. The soft brush of their shoulders was enough to knock him down his butt.

It was all over. 

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if you’ve read the whole series or not, but thank you very much for being here! :)


End file.
